


Broken

by HappyHypocrite



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Bipolar Connor, Bisexual Evan Hansen, Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Convan/Treebros, Implied Insanity, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Passing Out, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, asexual Connor Murphy, burning as self-harm, evan hansen/connor murphy - Freeform, mentions of alcohol use, multi-chapter, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyHypocrite/pseuds/HappyHypocrite
Summary: Connor is something unpredictable, messy, and psychotic. After Evan Hansen passes out at his house, Connor might finally find someone who can help him find stability.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An old story rewritten, I plan to add another chapter soon.

Connor was broken,  
he was broken,  
he knew it so well the word floated effortlessly off his tongue.

He’d gone four days with nothing.  
No highs, no burning, no pain, nothing, nothing  
nothing.  
He was flooded head to toe with so much red and so much nothing.  
The nothing was so distracting, he swayed on his feet and stumbled when he walked.  
Everything he touched was so broken.

His skin itched. Larry had been trying to get him back into sports for years.

He let the weight of the wooden bat beneath his fingers carry itself through the dark. Each strike against the stiff tree sent a sweet shock that seared from his fingers to his back, running to his jaw and churning in the pit of his stomach.  
It needed to break.

He’d lost count of how many times the bat had belted against the tree. He couldn’t pull the air through him anymore.

He’d craved it. He’d thought it’d be satisfying, It was so much more. Once he’d started he couldn’t stop.

What was left of his life clung to each shock of pain bursting through his fingertips.  
The sound of splitting wood sent a hurricane through his ears, ringing and screaming.

Broken.

A gift that had only collected dust, put to use.

A hysterical kind of laughter floated past the dry hollow of his throat.

At some time in the dark morning, he let a hazy grin find its way to his face as he slammed the car door shut, tossing the shards of the gift to the backseat. 

He drove home, smiling with an empty humour as he dropped the bag on his fathers cluttered desk.

He fell to his bed and let the world slowly shift to black.  
—

Larry never mentioned the bat, he never talked about the glove either. Connor wondered how far he could push the man into uncomfortable uncertainty before he snapped. Like his precious bat. Like his son.

—

He avoided school. His sister was hosting a party soon.

Halloween, out of all unnecessary holidays Halloween is the most redundant. An excuse to be reckless, at best. Connor loved those.

He let a book filled with her handwritten sheet music burn in the sink. An alarm blared, the flames licked the pages, the paper curled dark as ink.

Sink fires are funny, burning to ash so close to something that could save it.  
He held a hand over the flame, letting it close enough to sting his skin, his own fire inside. Bright and searing, it shot through his arm. He hissed and wrapped his hand in his sleeve.

She didn’t think the fire was funny. He knew that look, fear, the look someone gets when they can’t help the need to keep their eyes away. The sight of him too unsettling. He’d given up a long time ago. She hadn’t, he could tell.

—

He ran a red and swollen fingertip over the ridges of a lighter. He’d taken it recently, tucked it up the sleeve of his sweater and walked out of the store without a wary eye saying a word.  
Now, the fluid ran down his hand.  
Cold, it burned. His skin was red from the start. He’d never seen anything like this before, the skin breaking and reddening even deeper, burning without a flame.

He’d hissed and cried and laughed and ran it under a tap for a while. Such a strange feeling, soothing the flame. He kept reaching to grab things without thinking, it burned. He’d bandaged it after he’d tried to turn a doorknob and had torn a chunk of flesh, he’d clutched at his hand and cried, laughed.  
His skin didn’t itch anymore.

Such a silly thing to do.

He’d stopped needing reasons to hurt years ago. He pushed back his nail beds until they bled. He tugged his hair until it tore. He smiled and waved at cars that sounded a horn in annoyance when he walked into traffic.

“Hey? What the hell?? Moron!”  
An old man through an open window.

Connor could only laugh and keep his pace. Nothing more to say.

—-

“Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”

No, but the weight of them doesn’t. The world is such a weightless place.

——

He stayed for Zoe’s party.  
He wanted to be loud.

“Hey, sister stalker!”  
It felt satisfying.  
He laughed in the face of the boy, features bent in shock.  
“Yeah, that’s you, ya little freak.”

“I—I wasn’t! I didn’t mean—oh god, I’m sorry-“

“I don’t give a fuck Hansen, try this punch or something, it’s great.

What? Can’t hear ya freak, speak up.”

“It’s not uh, alcohol, is it?”

Connor grinned.  
“ ‘Course not!”  
It definitely was.

—-

That morning there were a few people passed out on couches, carpets, and one girl in the bath soaked in vomit. Connor wandered the house looking for something to mess with.

Seeing Hansen facedown in the floarboards was pretty entertaining.

Without a second thought, Connor fit his hands under the boys arms, the cast made it difficult, hauling his body up the set of stairs. Zoe was asleep somewhere, somehow the rough sounds of Hansen knocking against the ground wasn’t enough to wake her.

Hansen lay in Connor’s bed. His bright blue and light coloured clothes were a stark contrast to the dark blacks and greys of Connor’s room.  
He tucked a pillow beneath the boy’s head.

Connor got tired of waiting quickly, he scribbled funny patterns on the boys cast with one of his alcohol markers. Stars and trees and words and buildings and animals and anything he thought of.

That got old.

He drew on paper with the markers instead. He drew the boy at the top of a tree, surrounded by a canopy filled with spiders, snakes, liars. He drew the boy surrounded by his creepy letters swirling in a cloud. He drew him with a cast coved in stars and trees and words and buildings and Connors name.

Connor crawled onto his bed, dropping the book onto the carpeted floor.  
He scrawled the letters in the one blank space between his patterns.

Connor watched the boys chest rise and fall, his face pressed into Connors pillow.

Connor didn’t want to mess with this guy. It’d been a while since he didn’t crave a person’s reactions. He just wanted to talk. Talk about being broken. What a shame the boy was asleep.


	2. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn’t understand acceptable social behaviours. They have a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I took a break for exams and then my parents shipped me off to France for a month. I’m tired and I just had a panic attack. I hope you like this one.

Green.  
Bright, blinding Green.  
Connor never realized how shockingly colorful Evans eyes were. Green as a canopy on a clear summer day. Green as the most troubled, crashing waves. Then again, those eyes were usually glued to the floor, obscured from sight. It’s no surprise Connor had never seen them so clearly.  
But now, right now those eyes were staring right into his own.

“Wh- why am I? Are you? What’s-“

Connor’s face felt like stone, pan-faced and empty.  
“Wanna give that another shot?”

Yesterday Connor was bursting, burning. Today his head was heavy and empty. Empty all except for one thing, green.

“Sorry- I mean-“  
A deep breath. Bright green.  
“What am I doing here-?

Connor stood, moving toward the bed. Without warning, he leapt, landing cross legged across from Evan. 

Hey, I- what are you-?“

The beds frame creaked under his weight.

Connor ignored Hansen’s shocked yelp.

“Did you-? My cast?”  
This guy was full of stupid questions.

Connor glanced at his work. His name printed clearly among his colorful drawings.

Those eyes were anywhere but where he wanted them.

Connor stared wordlessly, his eyes glued to Hansen’s freckled face. 

“I uh,”  
Evan mumbled.  
“I’m Evan, Evan Hansen sorry- you already knew that, sorry.”

Connor rose from the bed, heading swiftly for the door, Evan, Evan Hansen didn’t follow

It was ten minutes later, while Connor was moving about the kitchen, taking ingredients off of shelves, when he heard hesitant footsteps making their way downstairs. The second those steps grew close, Connor’s arm stretched outward.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to come too? Should I uh-“

“Milk.”  
Connor demanded.

“What- I um-“

“Fridge, milk.”  
He clarified.

“Oh- sorry- got it.”

 

Connor quickly got tired of watching Hansen twitch. He pulled out his phone and selected the calmest playlist he could find. Soft sounds of rain and piano filled the room.

He set the kettle to boil and quickly returned to his work.

“Should I- I mean- should I go?”

Connor didn’t answer, he swung open a cabinet and grabbed a mug, placing it in front of one of the barstools at the counter. 

“Sure.”  
He spoke finally,  
“Or, sit.”

He grabbed a bag of flour, measuring a few cups into a bowl. In a few minutes he was ladling batter into a pan, that familiar sizzle and smell sent a soothing feeling through him. 

Connor glanced over his shoulder at the sound of soft tapping. His guest was mindlessly drumming his fingers to the beat of the song on the countertop. When his eyes locked with Connors own, his face flushed red, his hand disappearing beneath the counter.

The kettle made a soft click behind him, and Connor grabbed a tea bag. He moved to where Evan sat, dropping the bag into the mug and gripping the kettle by its handle. He poured the water into the mug and watched for a moment as steam curled into the air. 

“Oh- uh- thanks... thank you.”

Connor flipped the last pancake and set out plates and utensils in front of Evan and the space next to him. Without a word, he took a seat next to his guest.  
Evan picked at his plate timidly with a fork. Connor pulled his plate closer to himself, grabbing the bottle of syrup and drowning his breakfast in the sweetness. He grabbed his short stack of pancakes in both hands, folding them over once and biting into the syrupy mess.

Evan stared, wide eyed as Connor sunk his yellowed teeth into his breakfast.

Connor glared in his direction.  
“Wha?”  
He challenged around his mouthful.

“Uh, nothing.”  
Evan snapped his head back towards his own plate, trying desperately to ignore the repulsive sounds coming from his host.  
“Why don’t you uh, why don’t you use a fork?”  
He stumbled through his words.  
“I mean, that was so rude- sorry. I shouldn’t ask that, you let me sleep here and you made me breakfast which was really nice, and I just-“

“It’s boring.”

Evans rambling came to a stuttering halt.  
“What?”

“Forks, they’re boring.”

Evan chuckled.

“What?”  
Connor shrugged,  
“Sometimes you gotta spice things up.”

“You’re just-“  
Evan paused to laugh,  
“That’s so weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Good weird.”  
Evan agreed.

Connor cracked a smile, his mood lifting somewhat. After they’d eaten, Connor remembered to stop the music from his phone.  
“C’mon, lets watch a movie.” He lead Evan to the family room.

They’d been sitting on the couch for a while. Connor wondered why Evan hadn’t left yet, but he didn’t ask. Sometimes you just don’t want to be home. Connor of all people could understand that. 

They were about halfway through How to Train Your Dragon, when he caught Hansen’s eyes on him for the hundredth time. Just as he had before, when he saw Connor had noticed, Evan flushed red and turned back toward the TV. 

“Why are you so afraid of looking at me?”  
Connor inquired.

“I uh- What?”  
Evan spluttered nervously.

“Whenever I see you looking at me, you get all scared and look away.”

“Oh that’s just cause- uh I just feel like I’m being creepy , staring for too long, looking like I’m judging you, and I wouldn’t want to be weird or uh- creepy”

“Oh.”  
Connor furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Is it creepy when I look at you for too long?”

“Well uh- I don’t really get creeped out by it? but I think other people, if you stared at them- other people might think it’s weird or uh, uncomfortable?”

“Noted.”  
Connor acknowledged.  
“But why don’t you get creeped out?”

Evans face flushed a deeper red,  
“Oh i mean- Well I think it’s cause- well I don’t really like attention. From people that uh- people that judge me, but when you, uh, when you look it’s nice cause it doesn’t feel like you’re judging me? Does that make sense?” He breathed, his words getting a little frantic,  
“Sorry- I don’t know why, it just feels like you’re just looking, like you’re seeing me? and it feels nice to be noticed. Sorry, that sounds really- like I’m trying to make you feel-“

“That’s good”  
Connor interrupted.

“It is?”  
Evans confusion evident in his tone.

“I like looking.”  
Connor shrugged.  
“I like your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, gay.  
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think or what you’d want to see from a series like this. Or don’t, thanks for reading.


End file.
